Bad to the Bone Read Online Free PDF Page A

constantly under assault, frustrated, confused, and bewildered.
    Yet, paradoxically, he also felt invincible, overconfident, and optimistic about the future, the result ofbeing young and filled with energies he couldn't control. He heard no sounds of an unshod hoof against the ground, or the measured moccasin tread of an Apache, so he undressed quickly, withdrew a sliver of soap from his saddlebag, and waded into the cold water.
    It was deep as his waist, with smooth rocks on the bottom and the full moon shining in the sky. Teeth chattering, he soaped himself quickly, pausing occasionally to listen, his Colt lying on a boulder three feet away. He shampooed his hair, dived beneath the surface, shook off the dirt, and headed for shore.
    He put on his last clean clothes: black jeans, black shirt, and yellow bandanna. Climbing onto Midnight, he urged the animal across the stream. Midnight's hooves splashed through the water as he headed toward a dark canyon in the distance. Duane pulled his hat tightly onto his wet head and searched for a lonely out-of-the-way spot to spend the night.
    Doña Consuelo opened her eyes with a start as her husband entered the darkened bedroom. He wore his black velvet robe, for he'd bathed before coming to her.
    â€œWhere have you been?” she asked, raising her head from the bed.
    â€œBusiness,” he replied, gruffly.
    He never explained anything to her, because he didn't think she understood. Don Carlos considered his wife a beautiful but naive young work of art with whom he had the good fortune to be married. He removed his robe in the darkness, because he didn't want her to see his aged wrinkled nakedness without benefit of the girdle he wore beneath his suits.

    Unrestrained, his belly protruded like that of any gentleman in his fifties who tended toward overindulgence in food and drink. He crawled into bed, bussed her cheek, and said, “I'm awfully tired, and I really must get some sleep.”
    He rolled over, wheezed, and closed his eyes. She gazed at his noble profile outlined by light streaming through the windows, and felt guilty about her womanly requirements. Don Carlos de Rebozo had more important things to do than play with his giddy little wife.
    Besides, Doña Consuelo was sleepy herself, having just been awakened from a vague dream. Certainly there are drawbacks to being married to an older man, she mused, but when he's awake and feeling strong, I'll bet he's a better lover than any young man.
    Doña Consuelo had no way of knowing this, for she'd been a virgin prior to her marriage, and would never dream of being unfaithful to her beloved husband. But she believed it anyway, just as she believed in the transubstantiation of sacramental wine into the Most Precious Blood, or the Immaculate Conception. She snuggled against her bewhiskered husband, and dropped back to troubled sleep, hoping that he'd feel better tomorrow night, or possibly the night after.
    Duane found a level length of ground alongside a seepweed bush, and decided it would be his bed for the night. Far from main trails, at the edge of a vast basin, it was possible that no white man had ever been in the vicinity since the dawn of time.
    He unsaddled Midnight, picketed him, and laid out the bedroll. Then he crawled inside, using his saddlefor a pillow, with his Winchester rifle lying nearby. He rolled onto his back and stared at the heavens filled with swirling stars.
    Duane was tired of the owlhoot trail, and wished he could lead a normal life. He knew that many wanted men changed their names, moved to another part of Texas, and no one knew who they were. That was his master plan, but there was something he had to do first.
    Duane harbored a dark secret of which he was greatly ashamed. His parents had never married, and then they'd been murdered when he was one year old. According to information that he'd uncovered, his father, Joe Braddock, had been a rancher sucked into a range war with a big money